


The Hardest Victory is Over The Self

by nietzscheantrout



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Antony Dimmond is a slut and I stan him, Blood, Episode: s03e01 Antipasto, Hannibal AU, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Jealous! Will Graham, M/M, Murder, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham is a Murderer, but not super intense, i don't know why I think I did something here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:55:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26660272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nietzscheantrout/pseuds/nietzscheantrout
Summary: Will was sick and tired of it all. The fake smiles, the dogs, taking his kid to school. Three years had passed and he could still feel Hannibal's warm hands on his every time he looked in Molly's eyes. Frustrated and overwhelmed, he threw everything away and flew to Lecter's safe house in Italy to see him and finally set things right. Little did he know that Antony Dimmond decided to stay the night...
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 96





	The Hardest Victory is Over The Self

Will couldn’t believe his eyes. There he was. And He was, in fact, an angel. Not the cupid-esque cherub or the slender winged man, or the lady in white perched atop a Christmas tree. Rather, he was akin to an all-seeing, stunning conglomeration of limbs, wings, and eyes. Just his look was enough to knock the air out of Will, making him feel as if his internal organs had been rearranged. Will’s appreciation, or rather infatuation, could also be described in a similar way. Biblical.

It’s not that he considered Hannibal untouchable per se; had he seen him in a cafe on a rainy afternoon he wouldn’t have thought twice about accidentally bumping into his side on my way to his table. But standing here he was not just untouchable, but almost intangible. As if everyone around him was glued to the material plane but he was somehow just an astral projection in their minds. Nothing more than an ethereal hologram.

“Have you missed me, Will?” His voice was cool and collected, though it still felt like a stab in the gut.

Dr. Lecter always inexplicably knew what was on Will’s mind. The moment Will let his thoughts wander and found himself elsewhere completely, Hannibal’s face predictably spread into a smirk, internally savoring what horrors lurk beneath the surface of his words. This was not one of those moments. _In some ways_ , Will thought to himself, _I would rather be thinking of murder right now. Sure would be a lot easier._

“Haven’t we known each other a little too long for these games?” Will took a step towards him apprehensively.

“You haven’t changed one bit,” Hannibal said. His observations and amusement were a mere front to hide his longing. He had spent years seeing patients with a rainbow of mental states, appearances, interests, but no one had ever infiltrated his mind like this. The usual organized chaos of his thoughts was rearranged into a laminar ordeal. Will, Will, Will. Every moment of waking hour. That is until a few months ago. In a moment of weakness, Hannibal found himself meeting strangers for drinks; on occasion exchanging the odd pleasantry before their inevitable death. But this time… it was different. Antony was charismatic, caring, and downright playful. Hannibal never intended to get serious with him, but days pass quickly when you’re pining for someone who doesn’t feel the same. Hypothetically, this would simply be another story in Dr. Lecter’s mental note of dirty little secrets. It wouldn’t have been an issue at all.

But Dimmond decided to stay the night last night.

Will studied his expression for an uncomfortably long moment. He never missed the opportunity for a biting remark, and yet he was slightly lost for words. Briefly, he heard the faint clip-clopping of a deer’s hooves in the distance. The faint murmur of rushing water beckoned Will to take a moment and step away. To stand knee-deep in the river and look out into the sunrise. He was quickly brought back to reality by the sound of Hannibal sighing. There was something hanging in the air in this silence. Perhaps it was the tension of not having seen each other in 3 years; perhaps it was lust; perhaps Will was simply imagining it all.

“Why have you come to see me?” Hannibal took a few cautious steps towards Will, taking his coat off and hanging it beside the door.

Yet again, the man was stumped. He hadn’t rehearsed what he was going to say, nor had he prepared for Hannibal to ask this question. “I…” he hesitated briefly, glancing down at the floor, “I’ve forgiven you.”

The words leapt out of his mouth involuntarily, like blood spouting from a fresh cut. Unfortunately for Will, forgiveness was a lot less familiar than blood. The profiler had spent years of his lifetime categorizing anyone and everyone, but Hannibal was the one man that defied being put in a box; be that emotionally, physically, or mentally. He took this opportunity to study the killer’s expression. As always, his posture was perfectly poised and he held himself with the pride and arrogance of Jupiter. However, the faltering was crystal clear in his face as Will watched the right corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly. He looked… forlorn. Not an emotion Graham would’ve associated with the man, never mind seeing it in the flesh.

“You definitely took your time, Will,” the words came out sharper than intended. His face immediately morphed into the familiar look of disgust that Will had grown so accustomed to. Hannibal really knew how to look at people as if they were nothing if the situation called for it. It’s the expression he looked at Mason Verger with, the expression he looked at Alana Bloom with, the expression he seemed to employ specifically to show Will whom he wasn’t fond of in the moment. He had never looked at Will like that before, though. The man’s mind began racing. The dogs, Molly, Wally… had he made a huge mistake?

After years of nightmares he couldn’t explain to his wife; after conversations with Jack Crawford which echoed disdain and disappointment; after visiting Abigail’s tombstone… it was too late?

“I don’t know about you, Hannibal, but you haven’t left me these past three years. You may have decided to move away to polite and quiet little Italy, but you’ve been happily gnawing at my head in the meantime.” Will’s hand twitched ever so slightly, reminded of the presence of his Swiss Army Knife in his right pocket. He wasn’t intending to use it, but he never knew with Hannibal. Especially not right now. In all his time of trying to decode him, he seemed to have built up reinforcements in his walls, impenetrable to Will. It was infuriating.

Hannibal cleared his throat, politely gesturing for Will to make his way into the living room. The house was nowhere near as grandiose as what Will expected from the combination of Hannibal and Italy. The rugs were worn, and the color scheme was reminiscent of Will’s standard wardrobe: drab, heavy, unattractive. It felt lived in but certainly not by Hannibal. He could only imagine how many people had been in here. Or at least their remains had.

“When life is so burdensome, death has become a sought after refuge,” Hannibal stated, as if he had just said something poignant. “Is that what you have come here to do, Will? To finally allow your sense of self, as you know it, to die?”

“I have come here for you, Hannibal. Can we please stop with the poetic musings for a moment? I just left my-” he stopped himself. That was a mistake.

“Your…?” Lecter looked at him expectantly. He definitely didn’t predict this twist. In some dark, twisted part of Hannibal’s brain, he spent his time imagining Will sitting alone, with no one but his dogs for consolation. He imagined Will spending his time in tears, or tied to a desk at a job he has no passion for. Part of him desperately wanted Will to be miserable. If he couldn’t show his adoration in a positive environment, perhaps pushing him into pain would yield greater results. The deep mourning of Hannibal’s disappearance clearly had an effect on the man - his eyes were deep and sunken, and his previously bouncy head of curls was now trimmed down to a much more conservative length. For the first time in what felt like centuries, Hannibal felt… guilt? He spent so long breaking Will out of the chains of his own mind, only to present him with a scenario that left him more repressed than ever. He was broken, isolated, worn.

Yet all Hannibal could think about was the “my”. He had no contacts left in the US, and his admission was going to shake him to the core.

“Wife. And a child, right? I believe Freddie Lounds wrote an abundance of articles on your ‘Life Post-Hannibal the Cannibal,” he said, avoiding the jeering tone he so badly wanted to use.

“Yes. I have… had, a wife and child, Hannibal. Before last week I was sitting at the dinner table, holding Molly’s hand and letting my son talk about his day. I spent my time teaching him how to fish and running around like crazy with my dogs. But most importantly, I spent my time trying to forget you. I was prepared to ask Chilton to shoot me up with whatever cocktail you provided last time but-,” his voice was getting gradually louder, taking on a defensive tone. He still managed to somehow deny every single emotion he was experiencing at this moment, despite sitting opposite the sole person responsible for said emotions and their undoubtable existence. He sat down on the couch and hitched a small breath when Hannibal sat beside him. It was abundantly clear that on any other day, the man preferred the comfortable armrest positioned to the left of the couch. Judging by the glass of wine, he had sat there just yesterday. Was Will overthinking this?

“But you didn’t want to forget,” he interjected.

“No, I didn’t.”

For the first time that day, Will’s gaze finally met Hannibal’s, letting it linger for a touch too long for it to be comfortable. The previous heaviness he felt in the air was definitely still there, but it was as if someone ever so slightly let out the pressure. There was a quiet calamity in the room, the words unspoken and hands unheld hovered over them mockingly. He wanted to say something. They were in a small house in the middle of nowhere, alone, sitting inches apart… Will’s mind raced at what might happen next.

Before he could make a move, or, more accurately, wait for Hannibal to make one, he heard rustling from inside the house, followed by footsteps.

This next moment is where his entire perception of the situation would change.

Out walked a man in his late 30’s, slender but not lithe, a smirk on his face that was promptly wiped off once his gaze met Will’s. Antony observed the man, who was slightly older, badly dressed, and wore a horrific pair of glasses that hung askew on the bridge of his nose. He looked like the aftermath of a travesty, but it was clear that by the way Hannibal looked at him that this was something other than a person they would swing with. There was a genuine pain in Lecter’s eyes, one that impaled every person in the room. This was Will, wasn’t it? It was him.

“Hannibal…” he managed to utter, starting to piece everything together. The endless portraits, the silent underlinings in every poetry book in the house, the elaborate meals. None of those were an homage to him. This was the man Hannibal thought of when they were in bed together; and the man Hannibal dreamt of when they weren’t. He had finally met the man he was made to be replacing.

Will, in this very moment, felt his own consciousness start to slip away from him. The person suit he had spent the last 3 years so elaborately stitching was bursting at the seams within moments. This is what he gets for the greatest emotional labor of his life? A cheap knockoff replacement? His eyes glazed over as he stood up, quickly clutching his trusty knife. He didn’t know what he was going to do yet, but he knew he was going to do it there and then.

Hannibal’s heart began to race. This was the moment. He was about to witness Will’s Becoming. He relished the moment for a few seconds, registering it for one of the many halls of his mind palace, before standing up as well. Antony quizzically watched the two men get up from their seats, trying to decode their demeanors but struggling, considering they may be two of the most emotionally complicated people on the planet. Just to be safe, he took a few trepid steps back and quickly assessed all of the possible exits, none of which were promising. This was definitely not the first time Hannibal had instilled fear in him, but this time felt different. It didn’t feel playful or arousing, it was evil down to the very core of the word.

Will didn’t hesitate to lunge forward. Resembling a rabid animal, he held back a knife just for a moment, taking this opportunity to tackle Antony. Their bodies flew and landed on the ground with a magnificent thump. Before he knew it, Will’s fist flew into the center of Antony’s face. It was beyond his understanding, but certainly not beyond his control. He went in again, and again, and again, and again, silently reveling in the loud pleas and pained groans. This man, whether he knew it or not, deserved to suffer and Will was here to make sure that was abundantly clear.

Antony fought back valiantly, managing to pull out a full chunk of Will’s hair and earn him another scar on his arm via scratch. He kicked and bucked with all his might, knees continuously landing in the area of Will’s stomach scar. A bitter reminder of everything that had occurred. Will pinned the man against the floor by his neck, looking into his eyes in a frenzy. “You mean nothing to anyone, and you never will,” he whispered, letting Antony answer in a mix of gasps and oxygen-depleted yells. Will couldn’t help but laugh. He held this man’s entire life, being, power, in his hands. Albeit calloused, they were small and well maintained, and now Hannibal watched those same hands drive Antony into unconsciousness.

He couldn’t help but overlook the situation with a proud smirk. Will was unhinged to the core and absolutely relentless. It was simultaneously arousing, terrifying, and absolutely beautiful. He never would have imagined Will giving in to his instincts like this. Not so mindlessly.

He averted his gaze for a brief moment at Dimmond’s whines, immediately brought back into the action at the music of a satisfying crack, followed by the sound of an overwhelmed Will slumping against the wall. Bloody hands raised above his head in disbelief, he breathed in and out as if he had been told that God intended to wipe all the oxygen off the face of the Earth. He might as well have at this point. Will’s vision resembled a Kandinsky painting - full of abstract shapes and colors but nothing, in particular, to focus on. He attempted to ground himself, letting out a yelp at the sensation of Hannibal’s hand on his shoulder. He had somehow managed to sit down beside Will without him noticing, expensive slacks now drenched in Antony’s blood. Hannibal quietly wrapped an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulled him into a soft embrace.

“Aristotle once said “‘count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies, for the hardest victory is over the self.’,” he began. “In doing this, Will, you’ve allowed your true nature to run free. Does it feel good to be powerful? To distribute divine judgment with no involvement from a God?”

Will chuckled, looking up at him. “You say there’s no God involved. Don’t you understand?” His eyes darted away for a brief moment as he composed his thoughts. “I worship you. And, in turn, you worship me. We are Gods in our own rights.”

In this moment, Hannibal paid closer attention to his beloved’s disposition. He was still breathing heavily, clasping his hands together and inspecting the new mosaic of bruises and cuts. Will’s eyes flashed with something faintly familiar. That glimmer in his eye when he killed Garett Jacob Hobbs was back, and shining more brilliantly than the world’s largest emerald could ever dream of. The Will Graham that he was a mere 5 minutes ago was long dead, for better or for worse.

“The Lord kindles and seizes us. He’s our ash and our sweetness. He lets us love and he lets us run,” something came over Hannibal as he wrapped a second arm around Will, leaning into him ever so slightly. “By virtue of that statement, you have to let me know if you’re willing to love and to run.” His hands gently clasped over Will’s. “We’re unlike Gods only in the realm of our movement. We do not have the privilege of watching the world unfold from an ethereal throne. We must experience fear as men and act accordingly,” he said, tone somber.

Will looked down at his hands. “How could you?” he questioned, voice soft.

“I extend the same question to you. Even better, allow me to improve on it. Are you happy with her?” their eyes met again in silent conversation. Will knew that Hannibal knew. “I was content. And so was she. And so was Wally.”

Every sentence stung Hannibal more than the last. How could Will step away and form a family of his own? At least Hannibal could excuse his own actions as a mere fling. A momentary connection that only served the purpose of keeping Will’s memory alive. But this? This was blatant erasure. For a moment, he wondered how much she knew. Was she aware that they had spent months courting each other through elaborate metaphors and gentle touches? That Will had been imprisoned? That Hannibal was still on the loose?

… did Will ever talk about him?

Will tested the mobility of his fingers, watching them intently to see if anything was broken or damaged. He despised that Hannibal had nothing to say for himself. Will didn’t expect an apology but neither did he anticipate a false prophet leaving God’s chambers. Had Lecter really moved on?

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Hannibal said after a pause. He wasn’t prepared to answer any more questions, to make justifications, to see Will so heartbroken. Hannibal swiftly stood up and returned to Will’s side with a first aid kit, internally reminiscing bandaging Will’s wounds once before as he disinfected it with no warning. Watching Will squirm was like being back home. Will’s eyebrows furrowed swiftly and the slight upturn of his lips disappeared entirely. Lecter made no rush in bandaging him, allowing himself to savor this moment and bask in the blandishment of Will’s pain. It made him stronger, after all. Not to mention the fact that Will didn’t seem to mind, allowing himself to lean into Hannibal’s shoulder as the older man repaired him. In more ways than one.

They spent what felt like eons on the floor, covered in blood, sweat and tears. Neither of them had the heart or breath to say anything, so they simply just physically surrendered to each other’s grasps. Will’s head was now burrowed deeply into the crook of Hannibal’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent. Hannibal cradled the man with no comment, arm supporting his back and the other snaked around the back of his knees. He felt the warmth of tears moistening his neck ever so slightly, followed by tired sniffles coming from the demure shell of a man left in his arms. It was impressive how quickly Will managed to see himself as God almighty, and then crash down and liken himself to France’s least impressive peasantry. He was weak. Needy. All for Hannibal to savor.

“This is your Becoming, Will. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. For both of us,” he pulled away ever so slightly to look Will in the eye. Will was covered with splatters of blood, face puffy from crying, but there was a clear moment of clarity and appreciation in his eyes. “It’s beautiful,” Will whispered, looking over Antony’s lifeless corpse. The blood had stopped pouring but his skin was still warm and soft; as if he had just decided to take the world’s most dramatic nap. They were entranced in a feeling of realization. His metamorphosis had occurred and this was his first act as a changed man, and the passion that went into it was truly and remarkably beautiful. Will had no sympathy for Dimmond, and now didn’t hesitate to look back at Hannibal, purposefully meeting his gaze. “What’s for dinner tonight?” he attempted to break the tension, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is my first fic in 3 years and my first ever attempt at writing anything Hannibal related. I'm open to criticism and feedback, and I'll be taking suggestions soon as a way to celebrate me getting out of my writing dry spell.
> 
> I hope everyone's having a lovely day!
> 
> \- Newt.


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